


In the Blood

by Python07



Series: Dead Gangsters and Other Love Tokens [3]
Category: Batman (1966)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Wakes & Funerals, a walk down memory lane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can really learn some interesting things at wakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Blood

She was pale, her skin whiter than he’d ever seen it. Her dark hair lost its usual luster. She seemed so frail, like her body would wink out of existence at the slightest pressure.

He stared at her body resting in its coffin from the opposite end of the room. He stopped listening to the inane condolences of people he didn’t know and didn’t care about. He cared about her. He loved her, but she was gone.

He’d never see her deep brown eyes again. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe past the lump in his throat. His suit was too small, the material was scratchy, it was the color brown of mud, and he hated it. It smelled too. It smelled like the chest she let him hide it in because she knew how he loathed it. The tie was a horrible match and he felt like it was strangling him. 

He rubbed his eyes. What was wrong with his simple black pants and shoes and his white shirt? That was good enough for church. Why wasn’t it good enough for this? Wasn’t this sort of like church? Wasn’t she in heaven now? That’s what the priest said.

“In here, the pair of ya,” a voice hissed in exasperation, just loud enough for him to hear. “Before Jack sees.” 

Jack opened his eyes in time to see the three adults disappear into a small side room. He crept closer to hear through the barely cracked door. He peeked inside for a glimpse of a familiar man in his late forties, dressed in a worn but cared for black suit. The man’s shirt was open at the neck and Jack was stupidly jealous. The other two were women in their sixties. They had similar faces and identical black dresses, but the shorter one wore her streaked black hair in a long braid down her back. She had kind eyes. Her sister’s hair was up in a severe bun. Her eyes were bitter.

The bitter eyes flashed disdainfully and her Irish accent was still strong even after a lifetime in America. “See what if I may ask, Morgan O’Hara?”

Morgan’s accent was still as thick as the day he stepped off the boat. It was enough that it could be hard for those not of the Little Ireland neighborhood to properly understand him. He didn’t flinch in the face of the obvious displeasure. “You looking at him like a harpy. You’re all the family that eleven-year old boy has left. He needs compassion.”

The bitter eyes widened in indignation. Their owner stood ramrod straight and proud. “I don’t see how this is any of your affair, O’Hara.”

Kind eyes touched her sister’s arm. Her accent was just as strong but it didn’t carry the same cutting edge. She pleaded gently. “Please, Alandria. Morgan is a friend.”

Alandria bared her teeth at her sister. “Not my friend, Benedicta.”

“That is your choice.” Benedicta dropped her eyes from Alandria’s intent glare. Instead, she stepped forward and took Morgan’s arm. She didn’t realize how heavily she had to lean on him. “But I would still have your friendship.”

“Of course.” Morgan patted her hand and led her to an overstuffed chair by the wall. “Here now. Take a few minutes off your feet.”

Benedicta offered a tired, wan smile. It was small but it was sincere. “Thank you.”

Alandria’s scowl deepened. “I should take you home. You shouldn’t be out in this heat. Gotham always stews in July.”

Benedicta kept smiling. She shook her head. “No, we’re here to pay our respects.”

Alandria folded her arms across her chest. He held herself rigidly. She snorted. “To that fallen woman.”

Jack jerked back from where he was listening. He curled his hands into white knuckle fists at his sides. Hot tears pricked the back of his eyelids. He bit his bottom lip, hard, to strangle a cry of grief and rage.

Benedicta gasped and covered her mouth. She didn’t bother to try and hide the tears pooling in her eyes. “Sister, no. Ana was our niece, our blood.”

“Don’t!” Alandria snapped. “I lost count of the times we tried to help her. Yet, she insisted on a life of vice and folly.”

Morgan didn’t hesitate in walking straight up to Alandria. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Vice and folly?” he challenged. His voice was hard and unyielding. “You speak as if she lived the high life and did nothing but drink and have affairs. She was honest. She lived in a one room flat with Jack. The only money she made was by laundry and mending.”

Alandria poked a finger against his chest. “I will never believe that she didn’t sell herself. Once a whore, always a whore.”

Benedicta shut her eyes. She collapsed against the back of the seat and seemed to have aged ten years in ten seconds. Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “You have always been too blind to see.”

Morgan grabbed Alandria’s wrist. He held her hand firmly, but not enough to hurt. “Do you think I would have allowed my family, my daughters, to spend so much time with her if I thought that was truly the case? My Angharad is only a few years younger.”

Alandria sniffed and regarded him as she would a spider. “How am I to know what you would really allow, Mr. O’Hara? You and that brood of yours.” She scoffed. “A man that throws almost all daughters.”

“A brood which I am quite proud of and the one boy is enough of a handful,” Morgan replied smoothly as he backed Alandria into the nearest wall. He leaned in close to her ear. “Ana was taken against her will at the tender age of fifteen by a cutthroat thief and murderer who’s been dead these ten years.”

Jack’s eyes got wide. He bit his fist to keep from making a sound. His heart beat loudly in his ears and he was frozen to the spot. He couldn’t not listen to them.

Alandria stiffened. She waited until he pulled back enough to meet her eyes. She stuck her chin out defiantly. “That’s what she said, but she was her mother’s daughter.”

Benedicta opened her eyes. “Alandria,” she began, tiredly and patiently as if this was an age-old argument. “This has nothing to do with Cesar and Moira.” 

Alandria shoved at Morgan’s chest but he was too solid and she was too weak to shift him. “The hell it doesn’t! Ana was just like Moira.”

“No, she wasn’t. Every time I look at her, I can still see Cesar. I can see our brother and his crooked smile. Jack has it, too.”

“She should’ve given him up,” Alandria snarled. “If that child is truly the product of rape, she should’ve given him up for adoption and gone into a convent. She could’ve spent the rest of her life begging God to take that stain from her soul. Instead, she kept him and lied to him, lied to everyone.”

Benedicta shook her head. “She could never hurt Jack by telling him then truth. How would that help anyone? Is it so bad that Jack believes his father died in the war? Is it so bad he thinks he was a war hero?”

“Yes,” Alandria hissed. “That boy has his father’s blood in him and blood always wins out.” She pushed at Morgan’s chest again. “Will you kindly step back and let me away from this wall.”

Morgan didn’t move. “No and Jack’s a good lad.”

Alandria glared at both of them venomously. “Just wait until his father’s madness hits him. I will not have him in my house.”

“Where is he supposed to go? That’s your brother, your Cesar’s, grandson.”

“I don’t care,” Alandria snapped. “Our blood has been polluted.”

Morgan stepped back before he could start shaking her. He ran a hand through his hair. “You are truly a piece of work. You wonder why Ana couldn’t bear living with you.”

Alandria just smiled coldly.

Benedicta struggled to her feet. “Morgan, I strongly disagree with Alandria’s sentiments, but I have to agree that we cannot take him. He needs someone who can take care of him. I don’t have the health and Alandria doesn’t have the spirit.”

Morgan went to help her. “I understand, Benedicta. I truly do.”

Benedicta gratefully took Morgan’s arm. “I still wish to help him. I am willing to financially help anyone who can look after him. I don’t have much but…”

Alandria rolled her eyes. “You will be doing that alone, my dear.”

Jack jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. He whirled around to look up at Angharad. She had the same kind face and blue eyes as her father. Her brown hair was a lighter shade than his mother’s. Her voice echoed the concern of Ana’s. “Jack, are you all right?”

Jack’s face was flushed. He dropped his eyes to the floor. He hugged his arms around his stomach and shook his head.

Just then, the door to the room opened. Alandria stopped and glared at both of them. “What are you two doing?”

Angharad’s eyes flickered to Morgan over Alandria’s shoulder. “We…” she started to answer. 

Suddenly, Jack took off running. He tore off his jacket and tie as he ran out of the funeral home and onto the busy Gotham street. He turned and kept running. He ran until his lungs and legs burned.

He ran down to the Gotham riverfront. He ran past the active docks. He dodged around workmen and sailors.

He ran past all the warehouses. He kept going until he hit the recently defunct Pingviini canning plant. He climbed the fence and ran to the back dock where he used to watch all the boats come in. He finally stopped when he came to the edge of the water. 

He dropped to a sitting position and let his legs dangle over the water. He swiped at the tears running down his cheeks. His heart was in his throat as mind raced over everything and nothing.

He sat, just staring at the water for hours. He didn’t want to think about how lifeless his mother looked or anything his aunt said and yet he couldn’t help it. The voices circled themselves round and round in his head.

He wanted to scream and yet his voice didn’t work. He almost felt trapped in his own head.

The sun was beginning to set when another boy approached quietly and sat next to him without a word. The other boy was younger but didn’t fidget or have trouble being silent. He watched the water too, letting his shoulder touch Jack’s.

Jack finally sniffed. His voice cracked. “Clancy, is your father angry? Your sisters?”

Clancy handed Jack an apple. He gave a look of sadness and understanding but not pity. He answered with a simple, “Nah.”

Jack cradled the apple against his chest. He curled up and put his head in the seven-year old’s lap. “I miss her.”

A small hand rested on Jack’s head. “I know.”

Jack blinked and inhaled the smell of cologne and formaldehyde. He raised his head from where it had been resting on a still chest. He had to fight back the beaming grin of pride when he saw the evidence of the strangulation marks and the smile under all the makeup and diligent work of the undertaker. 

Jack took a quick look around before he rested a hand over the stopped heart of Don Falcone. He leaned in close to the dead man’s ear. “Half the people here think Maroni did it and the other half think it was Commissioner Loeb. Salvatore thinks he’ll be the next one in charge while Curtis and Nero both think they have what it takes to be top dog.” He giggled quietly. “They’re going to eat each other and it will be spectacular. You can really learn some interesting things at wakes.”


End file.
